


First Son of the Forest

by Lunarium



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Ents, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 02:31:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5112941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunarium/pseuds/Lunarium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is said it was the elves who cured the Ents of their dumbness, and it was two in particular.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Son of the Forest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Serenade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serenade/gifts).



> In Cuiviénen, Beleg's name was Belekô and Mablung name was Mapâlungô, the Primitive Elvish equivalents. Imrîlakhô is too the Primitive Elvish of Beleg's father's name (Ivorlach being the Sindarin form.) The whole idea of Beleg calling the forest his father comes from him relating so strongly to it rather than being one of the first elves. :) Many thanks to Elleth with the names!

Standing atop the large rock once they had reach the top, he turned slowly as if to absorb every piece of the steady wind. Belekô turned to Mapâlungô and said, “They are speaking amongst themselves. They seem restless, as if they cannot wait until they can pull their roots out of the soil and walk among us.” 

Mapâlungô studied the line of trees ahead and of the how the starlights reflexed in the eyes of his beloved, suddenly unsure of both the forest and of Belekô. “You hear them speak? And you know what they are saying?” 

“Of course,” Belekô laughed lightly, jumping off the rock and leading Mapâlungô by hand towards the forest. “The forest is my father.” 

“Your father is down by the lake,” Mapâlungô corrected. “Imrîlakhô is his name, and he is of elvish birth like yourself and I, not a tall tree always leaning over us on this hill.”

“But he cuts the trees down,” Belekô said. “They do not like it. They lament their friends and curse my father for his deeds.” 

“He’s hardly the first nor the last to do so.” Mapâlungô frowned, not quite sure how well he liked the idea of Belekô spending time among unseen spirits. The tales of dark monsters, shadows engulfing their kind, never to be seen again, have become common as of late. “How do you know all this? Did the trees teach you?” 

“No,” Belekô said. “I was born to hear the trees, and so are you, if you bother to listen.” He led Mapâlungô to a large pile of dried leaves before shoving him into it, jumping in after him, covering him with kisses, momentarily forgetting their earlier discussion. 

“What of the evil lurking in the dark?” Mapâlungô asked. 

“I hear them too,” Belekô said, smiling. “I hide behind my father, like anyone terrified would.” 

“And they protect you?” 

Belekô shushed him with a kiss on his lips. 

“Here,” Belekô breathed close to Mapâlungô’s ear. Taking his hand, he guided it up towards a tree root. “Focus. Just shut your mind and listen.” He kissed him again, his fingers drawing circles in his hair right above his ears. Shutting his eyes, Mapâlungô fell into an almost reverie. Silence crossed his mind before there came a beat not unlike that of how Belekô’s heart beat, content and sleepy after their lovemaking many nights under the stars. Words spoken in emotion, in sensations unfelt by any of the elvish senses, infiltrated through him, and he understood. Among them was a word he knew, another which made him open his eyes to glance up at Belekô. 

“There is intelligent thought in them!” he whispered in awe. 

“Did I not tell you that?” Belekô said teasingly. 

“And they speak our words…that is from your teaching?” 

Belekô nodded. 

Grinning, Mapâlungô’s free hand ran up Belekô’s form with affection. “How lucky I am to be bond to the first son of the forest! You have taught them poetry! Our prayers and greetings! And — oh, hey!” he pushed Belekô off him, his eyes wide with sudden shock. “What possessed you to teach them our insults?” 

“It appeared it be the easiest words for them to learn first,” Belekô laughed, crawling back against Mapâlungô’s form. “There is so much more we can teach them. Some emotions they cannot understand, which is why I brought you here. Perhaps we can both teach the trees, beloved one?” 

Mapâlungô smiled. “I would love to partake on that journey with you.” Their next kiss was interrupted with the harsh rustle of leaves and a shaking of the earth. Eyes wide and alert, Belekô glanced to his side, and mouthed, _“One of them,”_ to Mapâlungô. 

_“Here.”_

The voice came from the tree Mapâlungô had touched, and he urged Belekô up the branches, feeling as though the tree leaned slightly as if too allow them an easier time to get to the top before it stood erect, its thick branches and unshed leaves hiding them from view. 

Down below a shadow passed which neither could discern but they felt the words of the trees: _quick shadow, sharp-toothed, terrible claws, rancid flesh, poisonous breath, its heart a void, its lust eyes the people of the lake. Its master will drain us of life._

Mapâlungô and Belekô turned to one another, their own minds communicating silently: _We must teach the trees. We cannot be alone. We need allies._


End file.
